


Hidden Hurts

by RelicIron



Series: Mercenary [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Anxious Arcann, Arcann POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Force Bond (Star Wars), Insecurity, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Serious Injuries, Shared Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25780858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelicIron/pseuds/RelicIron
Summary: The day was won, Valkorian’s dead, and the Eternal Throne captured, but Caden’s more shaken than he lets on. Unused to their new Force-bond, Arcann let his guard down, and accidentally sees a side to Caden that no one was ever meant to see.
Relationships: Arcann/Male Bounty Hunter (Star Wars)
Series: Mercenary [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833691
Kudos: 22





	Hidden Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Quick reminder, I headcanon Mirialans as having reptilian features, so fangs, slit pupils, scales, that sort of thing. The growling sounds like an alligator’s, but smoother and drawn out like a cat’s purr.  
> This is also a cheap way of shoehorning in some backstory for Caden, as the first part of the dream is the battle in which he lost his legs (not that you see that), and the second is where he got the scars around his neck and his gravelly voice, the rest happen in-game.  
> Basically I just wanted Arcann to see that Caden isn't as confident as he seems.  
> Set right after The Bonds That Tie Us.

There’s something wrong.

He’s not sure what exactly, but everything feels off. As if the world has been subtly skewed up and to the left of where it’s supposed to be.

It’s hard to shake, but he’s here to do a job.

The air around him is thick with the smell of smoke and ozone, and the deep shadows cast by the buildings around him are lit up in a constant barrage of blaster fire.

Arcann adjusts his stance where he’s kneeling behind a barricade and shifts his rifle so the recoil isn’t driving the edge of his pauldron into his shoulder anymore.

How long were those reinforcements supposed to take? They should have been here hours ago!

There’s a cut off scream to his left and it takes physical effort not to look.

Another dead. They’re down to five now. And the Imps just keep coming.

The captain had died a while ago, and Arcann was the only thing keeping the remaining men from fleeing, trying to urge them along with assurances that the cavalry must be coming soon.

He racks another missile into the launcher slot on the right side of the barrel.

At this point, he’s not sure they even _can_ leave the safety of the barricade, even if they wanted to.

Firing the missile, he lets himself smirk a little beneath his helmet as it lands square in a battle droid’s face. It’s the little things, he supposes.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s some part of him that’s starting to accept the fact that they’re not getting out of this alive, but when a frag grenade hits the broken asphalt to his right, Arcann can only stare at it dumbly before the world erupts into fire and the scent of burned flesh.

-

The cut off from light and pain into the neon punctuated gloom of a cantina is absolutely _jarring_.

What even was that? He’s never used a rifle in his life and he’s never had to fight from such a defensive stand point as a barricade. The Imperial forces were numerous but not so much so that he couldn’t have carved a path through them with his lightsaber!

A man approaches him, and he looks up from a glass of honey colored liquid to scan his face. A zabrak with scraggily hair and three sharp horns. He’s familiar, but Arcann knows he’s never seen this man in his life.

“Alright hotshot, I need to have a chat with you.”

The alien’s voice sounds as greasy as his hair looks, and of course Arcann refuses, but he can’t really hear the words that come out of his mouth.

“You’re comin’, the only choice is whether you’re walkin’ or I’m draggin’.”

The bartender is watching them both warily, and there are far too many innocent people in the room for a firefight right now, so Arcann gets up grudgingly and follows the zabrak to a back room.

He’s barely through the threshold when hands reach out from the dark to grab him. Arcann only manages to brush the grip of his blaster before there are two bodies slamming him to the ground. The minute he gets his breath back a deep, inhuman growl reverberates out from his chest, but the zabrak only snorts at him from where he stands a few feet away.

“Now, now, none of that.”

Greedy hand quickly divest Arcann of his weapons and un-clip his breastplate, letting it clatter to the floor as they pocket everything else.

“You’ve been makin’ bounties scarce for me, newbie.”

The zabrak grabs his hair and yanks him up until he’s kneeling, the two goons holding him adjust their grip to compensate. The bastards breath is sour when he leans down to look in his face, and distantly, Arcann is confused about why he doesn’t just fling them all across the room.

“Nothin’ personal, but competition’s bad for business,” he smirks and suddenly his features seem to blur strangely, “sloppy, what would your drill sergeant have said?”

What-

His features come back into focus and he chuckles, patting Arcann’s cheek and pulling his hand back fast enough that Arcann can’t bite him, before sliding around him and out the door. He’s not sure why biting is apparently one of his tactics but using the Force to electrocute the three of them wasn’t.

“Alright, buddy, end of the line,” is the only warning he gets before a grubby hand grips his jaw, a hand reaches across his sight, and searing pain arcs across his neck.

There’s no time for pleading or terror, only the desperate animal struggle to survive the blade slicing through his throat. Muscles strain and he’s vaguely aware of the two thugs cursing as they try to hold him still, but his focus has narrowed down exclusively to the knife skipping and sawing across his skin to the tune of muffled screams.

Screams that abruptly cut out into a rattly wheeze when the edge slices into his larynx. He chokes as blood starts to flood his wind pipe and as he struggles to breath, the fight swiftly leaves him.

He sags in the thug’s hold and they drop him, head banging on the floor but he hardly notices as the world starts getting hazy. They must think he’s dying, he can hear them leave, faintly. And as his vision narrows down, the last thing he sees is the look of panic on the bartender’s face as they find him.

-

The darkness recedes to show a holodeck on a metal catwalk back-lit in the low orange light of the Mantis.

The Republic’s Most Wanted.

It wasn’t enough that he’d walked in to that penthouse to find a massacre and some preachy jedi blaming HIM of all things.

It wasn’t even enough that that bastard literally drove them into the arms of Darth fucking Tormen.

But as he looked around and saw the worried looks on his new family’s faces, he knew he’d failed them.

They looked to him for guidance and direction, and he’d led them into a rancor’s den.

Tormen had choked Mako at the faintest sign of his disagreement, and if they left his lordship’s ‘protection’ they’d be hunted down like dogs by their own kind.

They were trapped.

The warm glow of the ship is replaced by a whirlwind of different views.

Harsh duracrete walls rising out of a jungle with the snarling face of a Houk.

Beautiful architecture and forest that Arcann vaguely recognized as Voss.

And a durasteel jungle of smoking buildings and battlefields.

“Was it worth it?” a voice purrs.

Hundreds of Republic soldiers fall at his feet, as he brings back specimens of Tormen’s choosing like a trained fucking akk dog. The knot in his chest only grows with each one, but there is no choice. The jedi’s lies threaten his family and he will not let it stand.

When Seros is dead on the floor, there’s hardly any relief, not with what he’s had to do to get here. But when the Chancellor offers him a way out, a way to get back at Tormen, and some small way to atone for the damage he’s done to the Republic, he takes it. And Tormen’s blood on his armor feels a little better than Seros’.

He’d burned the galaxy down to keep his people safe, and he’d do it again, but it was only because of his failures that it had been necessary.

As the stars stretch into hyperspace in the view port of the cockpit, he can only mourn the mountain of dead he’d left in his wake to save his friends from paying for his screw-ups.

-

The pale light of hyperspace spirals in to glow in a strange woman’s eyes

She grins maniacally as she circles him on a machinery riddled balcony.

There’s blood in her teeth, in her _hair_ , and sprayed all over her armor as a blue lightsaber hums in her hand.

Her face blurs briefly, much like the zabrak’s did, “A hired gun with no loyalties come to stop the Emperor of the Sith? What are you playing at? Do you actually think you could ever make a difference?”

The pressure of the Force she’s exerting is a physical feeling on his skin, pushing him down, slowing his limbs as she attacks.

She’s fast.

He’s faster.

And soon enough the blaster fire overwhelms her and that disturbing light leaves her eyes.

The pressure, however, remains, and there’s something terrifyingly familiar about it.

The woman disappears and the balcony molds into the hanger bay of an orbital station.

Lights flicker and there’s a voice in his mind.

“What do you think you’ve stopped?”

His knuckles whiten under his gloves, but he keeps his tone light.

“Prob’ly not much, but I had to try.”

The voice chuckles, and the sound feels like fingernails on durasteel.

“Hmm… I think I prefer having you alive, so that when I am finished here, when every life has been exhausted, you will be here to see it,” it hums, “and know that despite all your struggling I have won.”

His mouth opens to retort, only for a weak curse to slip out instead as the planet outside of the station… just… _dies_.

A wave ripples across the surface like some invisible tidal wave, leaving absolutely nothing in its wake. He shouldn’t hear their screams, but he does anyways. Heavy plate clanking on the floor as the realization of what he’s seeing brings him to his knees.

He’d failed.

Trillions dead, because _he’d failed_.

-

The dead planet and the docking bay crumble around him and in its place is a huge room lit by the massive view ports of the space station beneath. There’s a console blinking at the far end and a few crates of cargo scattered across the floor, but it’s otherwise deserted.

Apprehension is heavy in his gut, but Arcann feels an additional chill go down his spine as he recognizes the place.

Asylum.

He advances slowly across the platform and confusion blooms in the back of his mind.

He hadn’t entered the room like this.

The plan to funnel Caden up to the control room had meant he’d rushed to get there ahead of him. Once there, he’d quickly picked out a decent spot to hide and wait for the ‘Outlander’ to arrive.

Instead, he’s moving slowly, blasters drawn, missiles loaded, fully expecting an attack even as he makes it to the controls and starts releasing the docking clamps.

Releasing?

But-

Golden light reflects off the screen on the console and there’s only a split second to react.

He dives to the side, narrowly avoiding the saber that comes down and slices the key panel in half, and when rolls to his feet there’s-

Himself.

Outlined in the smoke from the sparking remains of the console is… Arcann.

“We have unfinished business!”

He feels the grip of the Force around him before he’s flung out onto the central platform like a rag doll, the impact knocking his helmet loose and sending it rolling across the floor out of reach.

He’d understood that the nightmares he was seeing weren’t his own, but this…

Pain radiates up his side but he heaves himself to his feet and manages to bring up his shield generator just in time to block Arcann’s- the old Arcann’s- next strike. The strain trips the breaker in his gauntlet and the barrier blinks out a half second later, but it’s all the time he needs to plant a boot in Arcann’s chest and kick some breathing room between them.

“You! Don’t… touch me!”

The only other person who saw this was-

A low whiskey-rough snicker rumbles out of him and a few strands of white hair fall into his vision.

“Aww, I get mud on your pretty armor?”he can feel the smirk on his lips despite the drumbeat of fear in his gut, _he has to last long enough for the others to escape_ , “How ‘bout you hold still so I can blast it off.”

_Caden_.

Even with the confirmation, it takes effort to separate himself from the thoughts and feelings of the Commander, but the horror of seeing his old self through another’s eyes certainly helps.

He may have avoided mirrors then, he still did to some extent, but he’d known what he looked like.

But this…

Despite the fast pace of their battle, Arcann’s form is sharply defined, even in in the mild haze of the dream.

He’d never known that _this_ was how people saw him.

The corrupted yellow of his eye glowed like a single burning coal, contrasting with the cold black of his mask, and what little was visible of his face was twisted into a vicious snarl. Even his scars looked worse where they peaked out, an angry red as if they hadn’t healed right, instead of the faded silvery pink they were now.

He could remember the rage crowding out everything during this fight. The continued denial of his father’s attention, the fury he’d felt that the Outlander had managed to escape him in the first place, and the shear audacity that some lowly Force-blind mercenary was actually holding his own against him.

His emotion translated into the Force, and even Caden, it seemed, could feel it as it laid like a blanket of needles upon him.

The HK unit flung itself in front of Vega, taking the blow that was meant for him.

“I can’t wait to meet all your friends,” he purred.

The rage that roared through Caden was _startling_.

_Over my dead body you_ _ **arrogant**_ _son-of-hutt,_ he grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his blasters.

Arcann could remember the sudden flare of aggression his taunt had inspired, the growl that positively vibrated out of the man’s chest, he’d thought it was amusing at the time, until those blaster bolts started to find their marks.

The concentrated ball of Force energy he’d flung at Caden knocked the air from his lungs, and had given him the opening to grab him. Slamming him against the railing so hard it _bent_ and knocking one of his blasters from his hand.

From the pain that had flashed through chest, he’d clearly broken ribs on impact, yet he still managed to raise his remaining blaster to keep firing.

Arcann knew what was coming, and he frantically tried to untangle himself from the dream, but when the world around him ground to a halt, he paused.

Darkness crept in around the edges of Caden’s vision, and sound reduced down to the dull, muffled sound of a heartbeat.

What-

“My son is too strong.”

Shock overrode everything as Caden turned to see the ghostly image of Valkorian- his _father_ \- standing there beside him, and yet Vega himself didn’t seem surprised at all.

“You need my power,” he snapped, “Only together can we strike him down!”

Did this truly happen? Then why-

He felt the sneer that warped his face, “I don’t know why you keep botherin’, I didn’t take it then I sure as hell ain’t taking it now.”

“Without my strength, my son WILL kill you,” his father warned.

Caden snorted, “Yeah, well, shit happens. Better’n _you_ getting a better foothold.”

He refused him… _he refused h_ -

Everything started moving again and Vega was still staring off where Valkorian had been.

Is that what he’d been looking at? He didn’t even have time to brace himself again, before the Force clamped down around him and hauled him forward.

Directly onto Arcann’s lightsaber.

“Feel THAT, Father?”

His own voice sounds far away, barely there compared to the mind-numbing AGONY that’s ripping through him. Caden’s head falls forward to see the hilt of the saber pressed just beneath his rib cage and the smoke hissing out from around it, just before Arcann wrenches it free.

He collapses into a heap on the ground, the pain suddenly going mute as shock locks it down. Caden looks up at Arcann where he comes to stand before him.

“You cannot even protect yourself,” he says, knowing full well he never did, “How could you ever think you could keep your friends safe either?”

For a moment the image flickers, his old self and the man he is now briefly superimposed upon one another, before he backs carefully away.

-

As he moves, the darkened platform in Asylum’s control room widens and the walls come down. It’s night now, and the room has become the Alliance’s external dock.

Arcann himself melts down into a smaller form, white armor darkening to black and softening into robes, his mask cracking and falling away to reveal smooth pale skin and makeup.

Vaylin laughes, his own rough voice giving way to her higher cackle as figures materialize around her: a host of skytroopers at her back, and a struggling twi’lek at her feet.

Caden pushes past the remaining pain to force himself to his feet, pulling his blasters from where they’ve reappeared at his side. But he doesn’t even have time to raise them before Vette is being flung at him with a cry. He’s moving before she even lands, sliding in to try to grab her as she hits the durasteel deck, only for her head to twist at an unnatural angle and snap with a sharp gasp.

Desperate hands carefully turn her over, try to check her pulse, but her eyes are already glassy.

She’s gone.

“He can’t even protect his own people!” she crows, and her voice echos in a way it didn’t in real life.

Arcann remembered this, the way Caden had stiffened, the pulse of absolute murderous intent that went through the Force, and the wordless snarl that tore from his throat as he drew his blasters and threw himself into battle.

Much the same happens here, but unlike before, he is alone, and when he activates the thrusters on his jet pack to rush her, he charges through smoke instead.

-

When the black clouds clear, the shuttle dock has been replaced by a rocky terrace floating in a starry void.

The Force slams Caden to the ground like an invisible hand swatting a fly, and when he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees Arcann swallows hard.

Tiny hairline cracks mark his fingers, running across his hands, and up his arms. And the longer Arcann looks at them, the worse they get, spidering out further as a few of the smaller pieces fall through into the hollow space inside. As if all of Caden’s armor, even his _skin_ , is little more than the fragile surface of a porcelain doll.

“So you managed to piece yourself back together, I would be impressed, were you not holding on by a thread.”

Valkorian is standing before him, a sneer etched on his face.

Put himself together?

Izaxs… the cracks…

His mind was _shattered_!?

“Truly it matters little, you’re no threat to anyone like this.”

That inhuman growl rumbles out of him again, but this time it’s different, wrong. Like an engine shaking itself apart, and a few more pieces crumble away from the vibration.

His father smiles, before his face blurs, like so many others.

An Imperial soldier, the zabrak mercenary, Jun Seros, Darth Tormen, the blood-smeared jedi, Arcann, Vaylin, Valkorian. All of their faces flicker in and out, and when they speak its a cacophony of all their voices.

“Do you think anything you’ve done truly mattered?”

They smile down at him as Caden struggles to stand before collapsing again.

“Pathetic. You can’t even protect yourself, let alone anyone you hold dear. Your very presence brings death and suffering where ever you go.”

No.

Arcann renews his struggling, as the conglomerate of enemies continue to mock Caden, trying to ignore his own voice in the mix. It takes more effort than it should to fully untangle himself, but once he does, he jolts awake.

\--

His eyes open to the gloomy interior of the shuttle. The lights have been turned off to let them rest, and the only illumination is coming from the cockpit where Lana and his mother sit along with the blue-white glow of hyperspace through the transperisteel. They’re still on their way back from Zakuul, from taking the throne, and they’re all exhausted. He and Caden must have fallen asleep.

**Caden**.

Arcann whips around to find him slumped in his chair a few seats down, arms crossed tightly across his chest. The only evidence of his dreams is the tight frown on his face.

But Arcann can still _feel_ them, and he’s on his feet in seconds, stumbling over on sleep weak legs to shake Caden awake.

In hindsight, he should have expected the reaction he got.

There’s a split second of confusion as Caden rouses, but before Arcann can even think to say anything, he’s on his back with the wind knocked out of him, a vibroblade to his throat and an angry Mirialan crouched on top of his chest. Caden is wild-eyed and his lips pull back into a snarl that shows off his fangs.

The crash must have alerted the others, because his mother and Lana are immediately out of their chairs and running into the cabin.

“What did you DO?!” Lana hisses, lighting already crackling between her fingers, but his mother is already stepping between them.

“Arcann?!”

It manages to draw Caden’s attention, and he can see the moment the nightmare begins to fade from his eyes, confusion quickly replacing the angry panic.

“What-” He looks down at Arcann as if only truly seeing him now, and while he does seem to calm down, he doesn’t remove the blade.

It fight to relax his mental shields, but he carefully opens himself to their newly formed bond and lets his feelings trickle through to Caden, watching him shiver as it reaches him. Trying to push as much reassurance through as he can.

“You were having a nightmare, I… saw it.”

A look of horror washes over the man, horror and anger, so Arcann rushes to explain.

“I did not try to see into your mind, it happened without my consent. I believe it may be due to… what happened in the throne room.”

Caden is quiet for a minute, searching Arcann’s face for… something.

Whatever he was looking for, he apparently found it, giving a slow nod, finally pulling the knife away and getting to his feet. When he reaches out a hand to pull Arcann up as well, he’s fairly certain it’s as close to an apology as he is likely to get. He’s grateful that Caden seemed to understand what he’d meant _without_ having to admit to their connection in front of Lana. As his mother had said, the fewer who knew right now, the better.

Still, she was a sharp woman, “You saw his dream?”

“I was asleep as well, I did not mean to-”

“It’s fine, Lana. Bunch of weird shit happened today, what’s one more thing,” Caden said, sitting back down with a tired grunt and running a shaking hand through his hair.

She spares Arcann one more glare before pushing passed him and crouching down in front of Caden, “You don’t look well.”

“Yeah well, killin’ some all powerful bastard in your head after fighting knights and skytroopers for half n’ hour in’t what I’d call ‘a good time’.”

“You’re injured?”

“Prob’ly.”

Lana rolls her eyes.

“First thing when we return, I want you to report to the medical wing, no excuses,” she orders firmly before standing back up. She’s passing through the door to the cockpit when Caden mutters a sullen, “Yes, mother,” to which she snorts.

Meanwhile, Senya has pulled Arcann aside and tipped his chin up, running a careful thumb over his throat and giving a sigh of relief when she finds him uninjured.

“I’m fine, mother,” he assures her quietly.

Her lips thin, but she nods. It’s only when she’s returned to the cockpit that Arcann returns to take a seat across from Caden.

It’s silent for a few minutes, before he hears Caden speak.

“How much did ya see?”

Arcann looks up to see Caden watching him carefully. He looks exhausted, hair falling out of his ponytail, a cut on his cheek crusted with blood as the bruise beneath works its way up towards his eye, his green skin a full shade paler than it should be. Yet his eyes are sharp where they bore into Arcann.

“Everything,” he admits, “At least up until a few seconds before I woke you.”

Arcann sees a muscle flex in Caden’s jaw, but he doesn’t react beyond that.

“You gonna make me talk about it?” There’s a challenge in his eyes.

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

He snorts and leans back to settle further into his chair.

“You ‘assumed’ right.”

It’s quiet for a while, with only the faint hush of hyperspace filling the cabin, but inside Arcann is squirming.

That should have been the end of it. Caden clearly wanted to let the matter drop, but… he needed to say something.

“That voice was wrong.”

Caden slowly lifts his head to pin him with a warning glare, but Arcann soldiers on.

“You likely saved billions,” he insists, “Without you, the galaxy would still be suffering under my family’s rule.”

He pauses. This isn’t about him, but he can’t help it.

“And I would still be lost, as well.”

Arcann holds his gaze, he _needs_ him to understand.

“Your actions _mattered_.”

Caden watches him, silent and still as stone, before finally looking away and shifting into a more comfortable position. It was a clear dismissal, and Arcann decides to leave it at that.

The rest of the trip was quiet and vaguely uncomfortable, both men left to their own thoughts, but he could only hope that his words might have helped.

Even if only a little.


End file.
